


I'll Be Standing By Your Side

by FictionPenned



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: Buffy doesn’t have to look up at her Watcher to sense the frown tugging at the tightened corners of his mouth, to know that he’s pulled the pads off of one hand so that he can give his glasses a quick polish to clear them of dust and sweat and the fog of disappointment. She braces herself for whatever soft platitudes he might throw her way, squaring her shoulders, blinking away tears, and focusing her gaze up at the familiar ceiling to avoid meeting his eyes.“You don’t seem entirely present today, Buffy. Is something wrong?”Buffy scoffs, a choked sound that butts up against the jagged sides of her throat and rubs itself so raw that it almost becomes a sob. “What could possibly be wrong? Nothing’s ever wrong. Just your local Slayer, doing local Slayer things. Call us on our toll-free hotline and press 1 for more options.”Written for Fic In A Box 2020.
Relationships: Rupert Giles & Buffy Summers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Fic In A Box





	I'll Be Standing By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Loneliness claws at the corners of Buffy’s heart.

Through she is often surrounded by people — friends and enemies and total strangers alike — it’s hard not to feel alone, especially in the scattered moments when the weight of her calling feels to heavy to bear. There are times when she would like nothing more than to return to her life before destiny kicked down her door and barged its way into her life with its chin down and its elbows out. She wants to be vapid. She wants to be selfish. She wants to worry about trivial things that she won’t even remember in 10 years. She wants to sit on her bed in the middle of the night and talk on the phone and finish off a pint of ice cream by herself and call out sick to her first period class when she wakes up with a stomachache.

Instead, Buffy spends her nights stalking through cemeteries in search of vampires to dust. She turns up to her first period with cuts on her face and bruises hidden beneath her clothes. She worries about the fate of the world and the people in it more than she worries about boys and prom and gossip.

And as much as she despises it, she fears the unimportance of the things she craves. She fears that a return to normalcy would make her a _nobody_. She doesn’t know what she’d do with her life if she wasn’t the Slayer. There’s no dreams beyond high school, no thoughts beyond the present moment, no other cravings for greatness.

She fears that without the trappings of prophecy and destiny and general Slayer-ness, she’d be a _failure_.

She is so lost in thought that she misses Giles’ shift sideways, and finds herself punching at empty air instead of connecting with the boxing pads. Her balance reels, she stumbles forward, and she tumbles onto the library floor with a tired, weary groan.

Buffy doesn’t have to look up at her Watcher to sense the frown tugging at the tightened corners of his mouth, to know that he’s pulled the pads off of one hand so that he can give his glasses a quick polish to clear them of dust and sweat and the fog of disappointment. She braces herself for whatever soft platitudes he might throw her way, squaring her shoulders, blinking away tears, and focusing her gaze up at the familiar ceiling to avoid meeting his eyes.

“You don’t seem entirely _present_ today, Buffy. Is something wrong?”

Buffy scoffs, a choked sound that butts up against the jagged sides of her throat and rubs itself so raw that it almost becomes a sob “What could possibly be wrong? Nothing’s ever wrong. Just your local Slayer, doing local Slayer things. Call us on our toll-free hotline and press 1 for more options.”

Giles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he desperately attempts to collect himself and his thoughts. Buffy knows that he doesn’t like it when she’s flippant, but she can’t help it. Being flippant is her best armor against the many monsters that take up residence in her mind and the world beyond. “Did you have a fight with your friends? Is everything okay at home?”

With a great huff of feigned effort, Buffy springs back to her feet, striding back across the floor to take up residence on the other side of the room. She crouches into a ready stance and raises her tightly curled fists. “They’re fine. We going to go again or what?”

Rather than bending to pick up the discarded pads, Giles merely puts his hands in his pockets, eyeing the girl with a steady, piercing stare. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Buffy’s lip trembles, and she sinks her teeth into the inside of her cheek to keep from falling apart. “There’s nothing to talk about.” She shifts her feet and sidles a bit closer, but her fingers become a little looser, and her arms collapse inward, towards her vulnerable abdomen, an unconscious move to protect herself.

She isn’t afraid of Giles, but she _is_ afraid of being seen as a silly, _stupid_ teenager.

She’s afraid of being disregarded.

She’s afraid of being told that she shouldn’t feel the way she feels.

Giles turns his back to her and pulls up two chairs, gesturing at Buffy to take one as he takes up residence upon the other. “Please, Buffy.” There’s a tiny bit of pleading in his voice, made all the worse by a tangible, genuine earnestness to do what’s right. It breaks through the dam holding back Buffy’s feelings, and a single tear rolls down her cheek. She catches it on her fingers, eyes the wet shine as if it committed the utmost betrayal, and begrudgingly, she crosses the room and sinks into the proffered chair.

“I want to be normal,” she admits as soon as her legs touch wood. “I want to not worry about all of this for a while. I want — I want to not be so damn _scared_.”

A long sigh filters from Giles lungs — incredibly heavy, yet surprisingly gentle. “If it helps at all, I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Buffy lets out a single, breathy bark of disbelieving laughter. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true. No one else could do what you do. Being brave doesn’t been not being afraid or not getting tired, it means being afraid and tired and doing the job anyway.”

Warmth floods through her.

It doesn’t chase away the fear, but it does take some of the weight off of her shoulders, lessens some of the pain.

“You think?”

Giles nods.

Buffy’s teary eyes find the floor and a small flush floods her cheeks. She looks to Giles much like people look to their fathers. She wants his guidance, his reassurance, his approval, and when she gets it, it means the world.

There’s a long pause as she continues to puzzle out her feelings, doing the sort of introspection that would have probably happened in a secret, pink, sticker-coated journal if she was a normal teenager, but she doesn’t have time for journaling. Giles gives her the space she needs to think.

After a long moment, she wipes away the last of her tears and looks over at him. “I’d still feel better if I got the night off.”

There’s a protestation scribed on his face, but he chases it away a blink and a heartbeat later. “I’ll patrol for you.”

“Thanks, Giles.”

“No, Buffy. Thank you.”

She raises an eyebrow in a silent question, and it’s a long while before he answers.

“You don’t get enough thanks from the world for the work you do. It’s about time you got at least one thank you.”

Her lips — still sticky with the remnants of her lip gloss — tighten into a smile as she drops into an impression of an old-timey superhero. “You’re very welcome, loyal citizen.”

Giles's fingers twitch, moving in the vague direction of a mocking salute that he doesn’t actually commit to, and with a flip of her hair and a quick, “See you later then,” Buffy exits the library.


End file.
